


Wolfsbane

by flaggermousse



Series: Picking up the Pieces [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (just there in the background), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Discussions of lycanthropy, Gen, POV Damocles Belby, POV Outsider, Raising Harry Potter, Sirius Black got a Trial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25825624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flaggermousse/pseuds/flaggermousse
Summary: “Mr. Belby, I recently came into a lot of money. My mother died and left me all of the Black Fortune.”“My condolences, Mr Black.”Black smiled grimly. “There's absolutely no need for that. If you knew my mother you would understand. The thing is; it is way more than I really need. I figured I'd spend some of it on worthwhile causes, and so I'd like to fund your research.”“Mr. Black, I would be most grateful for any aid. Which of my writings caught your interest?”There was a slight hesitation before Black answered. “For years now, you've been working on this ... potion that can help werewolves?”
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (implied)
Series: Picking up the Pieces [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1972801
Comments: 34
Kudos: 472
Collections: BL favorites, Outstanding Outsider POVs





	Wolfsbane

Damocles Belby had been described by many of as a very talented wizard, particularly as a potion-maker. His writings had been printed in several papers, including _Monthly Magic_ and _Potions Today_ , and the last book he had corroborated on, _101 Practical Potions_ , had cemented his status as a rising star in the field. But on a personal level, he could be a bit of a mess. He was often so intensely focused on his projects that he tended to forget the tasks of everyday life. Like buying food, or cleaning up the blue slime his latest experiment had left on the ceiling. Or remembering he had a meeting at 4’o clock.

When the doorbell rang, Damocles almost lost the vial he was holding. As his brain caught up enough to remember the appointment, he dropped it on the floor. The photo of his wife smiled at him as he hurried out of the laboratory. On his way through the kitchen he waved his wand at the kettle to get the water boiling. He would have needed more than five minutes to make _that_ room in any way clean or presentable, so he simply shut the door and moved on. 

The week before, an owl had brought a letter from a Mr. Sirius Black, who’d asked to meet him. The man was waiting on the doorstep. Black was a nice looking young man with long dark hair. Damocles invited his guest inside and quickly steered him into the living room, avoiding most of the smaller messes in the house, before sneaking into the kitchen and get the tea.

It was only when he tasted the tea himself he recalled not washing the kettle after storing his latest experiment in it. Black was polite enough not to say anything, but he seemed to struggle not making a face. Damocles decided to power on with the conversation, hoping it would be better than his refreshments. “So to what do I owe the pleasure of this meeting, Mr. Black?”

Black placed the teacup back on the table. It was barely touched, and Damocles couldn’t blame him. “I've been following your writings in _New Magical Discoveries_. It's very impressive.”

Damocles smiled. “Thank you.”

“To get to the point ... Mr. Belby, I recently came into a lot of money. My mother died and left me all of the Black Fortune.”

“My condolences, Mr Black.”

Black smiled grimly. “There's absolutely no need for that. If you knew my mother you would understand. The thing is; it is way more than I really need. I figured I'd spend some of it on worthwhile causes, and so I'd like to fund your research.”

“My research?”

“Yes, um, from what I understand, developing new potions takes time and money. I'm not suggesting you lack the means, I just - I just wanted to help.”

Damocles stared at his guest. Despite his breakthroughs in the field, developing potions had never been a career with a steady income. His writing commissions kept him afloat, but he usually had to seek them out. To have someone come in and just offer to fund his work without several days and letters of convincing was a new experience. The sum Black then proceeded to suggest was more than Damocles could have hoped for.

“Mr. Black, I would be most grateful for any aid to further my research. Which of my writings caught your interest?”

There was a slight hesitation before Black answered. “For years now, you've been working on this ... potion that can help werewolves?”

“Yes, that is correct.” Damocles sighed. It was very frustrating that no investors had wanted to prioritize the project he had a vested interest in for so many years. “It's been a long road.”

“It was interesting what you wrote about- about how their bodies rule their minds.”

“Yes, yes. When a werewolf transforms, the mind becomes -uh – wolflike. A perfectly sane person loses all sense of who they are. That is, I feel the main problem with lycanthropy. If they were still in control of their minds, a werewolf would be nothing more than an- uhm, involuntary shapeshifter, so to speak. They could stay in their home for the night without the urge to seek out prey.”

There were many _more_ issues with lycanthropy, like the infectious bite and the preference for human meat. But if the mind inside the wolf stayed human, they could control those urges.

Black nodded. “That’s a great idea. Then they wouldn’t be a danger to themselves and others.”

Themselves? That was an interesting choice of words. The average wizard usually didn’t care much for werewolves’ wellbeing; they wanted them eliminated, or baring that; chained up and locked away. Damocles pushed away the memories, focusing on explaining his theories. 

“I think there must be some way to make that possible. After all, Animagi keep their human mind when they change into their animal form. At least that’s what I’ve understood. You, of course, have more experience in that field.”

Black just stared at him before Damocles awkwardly continued: “I must confess I did a little research on you, Mr. Black. You’re on the Animagi Registry.”

Black’s smile seemed slightly forced when he replied: “Yeah. No use denying it, it’s open for everyone to see.”

Damocles did not mention everything else that had come up in his research. Most of the information on Black had been from the 82’ trial. Page after page on his arrest and imprisonment. It was an obvious shift in the articles; before the trial almost everyone in the country, at least every journalist, had been convinced of his guilt, painting him as a murderous monster. Afterwards, he was a poor victim, a young man barely escaping a horrible miscarriage of justice.

Black had ended up serving six months and getting a hefty fine for being an unregistered Animagus, but as soon as he was free he had managed to gain custody of his now famous godson Harry Potter, and started to rebuild his life. There hadn’t been much information after 1982. Black seemed to keep a low profile, perhaps to shield his godson from the press.

“So … what is your experience on the subject?” Damocles fingered the almost full teacup he still held. “If – if you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“No, I – I don’t mind.” Black’s shoulders relaxed a bit as he sat back in the chair. “It is … yes, like you said; my mind is still human, at least at the core. The sharper senses were a bit overwhelming the first years, but I’ve gotten used to it. My thoughts can feel a bit … simpler once I’m a dog? If I have a lot on my mind, it can be relaxing to change and just focus on all the smells for a while.”

“Really?” Damocles put down the teacup. There weren’t many Animagi in Britain, so he had never had the opportunity to ask them about their experiences in person.

“Yeah,” Black continued, “but I never do anything as a dog that I don’t want to. I may bark at the post-owls, but that’s because I think it’s funny, not some sort of instinct taking over.”

“Interesting.” Damocles took one of the notebooks he had shoved behind the dead pot of Flitterbloom the day before and started making notes. For a while, the only sound in the room was the quill scratching over the paper.

Black leaned forward. “You know … if any of my … ‘expertise’ could further your research, I’d be glad to help.”

Damocles looked up, suddenly aware that ignoring a guest in favour of writing notes would be considered rude. But Black didn’t seem to be offended. Damocles hurriedly put the notebook away underneath the table.

“Your donation is going to cover my research expenses for the next _three_ years, Mr. Black, I couldn’t possibly-”

“There’s no problem, I really want-”

Black stopped, suddenly aware of his own enthusiasm. When he sat back, he seemed almost uncomfortable, as if he had let Damocles see too much about what this really meant to him. Damocles studied his guest for a moment. It could be useful, considering the current hypothesis on the similarities between Animagi and lycanthropy. “If that’s the case, I’ll take you up on the offer. This project is close to my heart, and any help is appreciated.”

Black stared at him. There seemed to be a flash of understanding in the dark eyes. Damocles smiled sadly, and answered the question Black hadn’t asked. “I knew someone. Years ago.”

There hadn’t been many kids in the village of Damocles’ childhood, and most of them had preferred the company of his louder, braver brother over his. But Damocles and Eloise had shared a passion for knowledge from an early age, and it had glued them together. Damocles was in his forties now, but he still remembered the long summer days they had spent gathering plants and making elixirs for no other purpose than to turn their tongues various colours. She had left for Hogwarts one year before him, and at the time, it had seemed the longest year of his life. 

“She was sixteen when it happened. A kind, talented witch.” And beautiful. She had had crooked teeth and large ears and her eyes shone like the sun. “The rest of our House always thought she’d go far. But once the lycanthropy manifested, she dropped out of school.”

Eloise didn’t want to hurt anyone, but the wolf did. Headmaster Dippet couldn’t let her endanger the rest of the students. Everyone was afraid of her, even her parents. Damocles graduated with top marks, she never finished school. He started the climb to the top in the potions field, while she went from job to job, fired when the employers figured out that her absences lined up with the full moon.

Despite his family’s warnings, they had moved in together. He was the one paying the rent and food. Eloise covered up her scars, but Damocles knew the marks from the chains were there on her wrists. He tried to get help; started working on a potion, but it was too late.

“In the end she … couldn’t take it anymore.”

Black's fingers tightened on the armrests of the chair. “I’m so sorry.”

The sympathy in Black voice was more sincere than most of the condolences Damocles had gotten at Eloise’s funeral. The tone stood in sharp contrast to how rigid he sat and the barely restrained fear that had snuck into his eyes. The man before him was in his twenties, but Damocles could see lines of worry and strain in the young face, and in that moment, he knew: Black too had someone dear that suffered the same fate as Eloise.

But Damocles didn’t want to pry. He sighed. “If things had been different, she might still be here now. I’d like to help the ones that suffer today.”

“That’s admirable, Mr. Belby.”

Loosening the grip on the armchair, Black seemed at a loss for what to do with his hands. He grabbed his teacup and downed the contents. His face showed such instant regret Damocles couldn’t help but chuckle.

“My apologies, Mr. Black. I’m better at making potions than tea.”

Black started to laugh, but ended up coughing. 

The conversation continued onto more practical matters on potion-making and the funding. Damocles ended up retrieving the notebook to write down more. It was nearing dinnertime when Black excused himself because ‘his family would be waiting for him’. Returning to the laboratory after seeing his guest out, Damocles started gathering all the notes he had made through the years on the project. After a while he could hardly see the table underneath all the papers.

From up on the wall the photo of Eloise smiled her crooked smile at him. It had been the last one he took of her. She had been tired, and the make-up couldn’t quite cover the scars after a particularly bad moon. Still she had smiled when he turned the camera towards her, and she continued to do so now.

It was just two days since the last full moon. How many out there were in pain the way she had been? Damocles sat down by the table and started working.

**Author's Note:**

> “It seemed impossible that I would be able to come to Hogwarts. Other parents weren’t likely to want their children exposed to me. But then Dumbledore became Headmaster, and he was sympathetic. He said that, as long as we took certain precautions, there was no reason I shouldn’t come to school.” – Remus Lupin.  
>   
> Dumbledore became headmaster at some point before Remus went to school, but Eloise went to Hogwarts almost 20 years before that, and no such accommodations were made for her. This scene takes place sometime in the mid-1980s, soon after Walburga dies and Sirius inherits everything.  
>   
> The only canon information we get about Damocles Belby is from a conversation between his nephew Marcus Belby and Horace Slughorn: Damocles is a well-known potion-maker, he invented the Wolfsbane Potion and got the Merlin Order (possibly for that invention), and don’t get along well with his brother. Everything else is me filling in the gaps because I can.


End file.
